


Gotta Leave It All

by actionfan



Series: Generations [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Exile, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hope, Implied Violence, Mild Language, Old work, Regime Change, Threats, change, friends - Freeform, hangovers, merchants, references to alcohol and drunkeness, warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionfan/pseuds/actionfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when told to pack up and run? Start all over or wait it out? Beginnings old and new, friends old and new and learning who and how to trust. This won't be easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gotta Leave It All

**Author's Note:**

> this was just sitting here it's old but it will tie into another story that I'm very excited about. I have a habit of having many WIP's going on but since this is original stuff I don't have to worry about cannon or getting drawn into a different series.

Oh gods. What the hell happened last night? His head throbbed like someone had taken a bludgeon to the back of it. Sleep was the best option.

He woke up to a queasy stomach and spilled the contents of his guts. His arms sprawled across the top of the large bucket. Unmoving mainly because he didn’t think he could move at the moment, he tried to remember last night. It was a blur at the moment. How much had he had to drink? Why had he been drinking? He hadn’t been this drunk in years. But for right now he had bigger problems. The room was spinning. And the light made his head hurt. First thing was more sleep, questions later.

 

Still queasy but at least the other things were dying down. Water might help. He washed his face and mouth so he’d feel less like he’d been stampeded possibly and he could help get rid of the taste of vomit. After chugging some water he was feeling almost human.

A knock on the door had him turning and the accompanying lightheadedness reminded him oh right slowly. Propping himself up with the countertop he called out “Who is it?”

“Room service.”

Oh look the bile was back. “You can go then. No need.”

He was greeted by laughter. “Gods you did get smashed good and well, now let me in.”

“Who?”

“What a wonderful way to greet an old friend who’s even paying your lodgings.”

“Fine, come in. I suppose that explains the room.”

More laughter. And the door swung open and then was accompanied by a soft click. “You don’t appreciate the design?”

He’d rather been avoiding looking at the walls of the eyesores called rooms here. And all the colors. “Is this some passive aggressive way to get back at me for something? It’s blinding.” He caught sight of his friend dressed in cheap robes and, “Rhys, you look like something the cat dragged in.”

“You don’t look so great yourself. So what are you planning to do?”

“Remember how I got this bad while on the road. I think I have a clue now. I barely remember anything.”

“Sit down then.”

“Why?”

“You’ll need it. Tell me what you remember.”

He sat. “You coming to meet me. We started talking and drinking over the meal…”

Shit. Shit. He remembered everything now. Unless it was a dream… it had to be… It was still so surreal, like something from another man’s life—surely not his own. Exiled. If not outright, then at least in practice. Never had he been so helpless before. Arm resting on the side of his chair, he leaned forward, massaging his temples. By the gods, how, why? And why hadn’t he seen this coming. He was a merchant, he should know these things; revolutions, soldiers, armies lived and died by their supplies. Even a coup he should have heard wind of. No one but the fool-hardy would attempt such a thing without some foreign support, some internal rumors and followers unless they wanted their own throat cut. 

But these names and people meant nothing to him. And now he couldn’t return to his homeland. Still better than the alternative but he hated the ones who had done this. Upsetting everything. He would need some weapons if he should ever choose to sell them there was sure to be a market for them now. Dammit everything had been stable! Their ruler had been far from a great leader of men, far from some revolutionary bringing progress, but he had known this. He kept his ambitions small and his army content but sufficient.

And now he was dead. That would take some getting used to too. Of course the man had been ruling for eighteen years, more than enough time to be from a grudge thought gone. 

But what would happen now? He loved his country but that wasn’t enough. He’d been delighted at first to so his friend though surprised at his sudden raggedy attire for such a man. They’d eaten, eventually had a few drinks, laughed a little but Rhys had seemed on edge and finally blurted it out.

“ _Don’t return.”_  
  
“What?”

_“Like I said; don’t return. At least not if you value your life. The regime’s changed. You’re too well-known. You’re liked, respected, but you’re a rogue element.”_

_He stood over so quickly the chair practically toppled over and he started practically shaking Rhys, “What happened? What do you mean? What about my family?”_

_Rhys’ hand reached out and he looked him in the eye, “They’ll be fine they are fine. They won’t be touched. You’re well bred, respected, respectable, old. Not given to doing anything drastic, not revolutionaries. Merchants who keep their business to themselves. You don’t fit that. The regime is new, they can’t afford to lose public support but they don’t want to worry about you either. So chances are they’d try to kill you or rather have you ‘fall victim’ to something. You’re a merchant after all. It wouldn’t be unbelievable for you to get killed by robbers along the road.”_

“I’m homeless. I have nowhere to go. Exiled.”

“You’re a merchant, you can go wherever. I have friends who could help you anywhere you choose. Pick somewhere else to settle. I’ll help take care of your family.”

Some of the weight, the dread, panic, and despair, relaxed. The anger was still there but subdued. “Thanks.”

His friend grinned, “Does that mean I have your permission to court your sister?”

They both laughed as he slugged him in the arm and assured him, “You wish.” Maybe somehow things would be okay. Eventually he’d be allowed back. Their paranoia would die down in a few years. This would pass. He just had to wait it out. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This will be updated with another story and between the two of them together things should start to make more sense. They will not be taking place at the same time though as a heads up. Eventually characters will be recognized from both. There will be an eventual pairing waaaaay down the road and updates will be slow.


End file.
